


You’ve Got to Lose to Know How to Win

by Ragelikeafire



Series: Corruption Purity and Desire [2]
Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:38:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragelikeafire/pseuds/Ragelikeafire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picking up from where we left CPD, Andrea Sachs is fighting for her life after a second brutal attack in as many weeks. Miranda is by her side but is more than a little broken. Will our leading ladies live happily ever after or will the road to recovery break them apart? </p><p>This story contains graphic descriptions of physical violence and emotional strain throughout. </p><p>Beta'd by the amazing Jazwriter. All remaining mistakes are mine. </p><p>Disclaimer: TDWP and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, i.e the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, which constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**(January)**

During the initial days after the attack, Emily Charlton—Miranda Priestly’s loyal assistant—had done what she did best and protected her boss. Within the gossip mill, a salacious rumor floated around that the Captain had abandoned her ship…indefinitely.  
All meetings had been cancelled, events postponed, and the word was out that Madam Priestly would not accept any phone calls. Those who had been rejected, cancelled, or refused any access had added to the rumors that the Ice Queen had fallen from power.

Andrea Sachs’ recovery had been touch and go during the first week. She had undergone two emergency surgeries and had been placed into a medically-induced coma in an effort to give her fragile body some time to heal. Miranda had stayed by Andrea’s bedside day after day, night after night, not accepting any visitors, no one except Emily.

At first, Emily had feared the worst. She had been scared that the vultures were not far from the truth, that Miranda had lost her fight, that she was a broken woman.

Fiercely proud and protective, Emily was not about to stand by and let Miranda throw it all away. This wasn’t the first time she had been left to pick up the pieces. She had endured a steep learning curve a few years previously. After Andrea Sachs had fled into the Parisian night, Emily’s world had gone to hell. Admittedly at the time, she had not understood Andrea had been the reason why Miranda had turned into an unpredictable crazy person—well even more so than usual—she had just assumed that it had been the stress of another failed marriage being splashed all over the tabloids. It wasn’t until recently, when Andrea had come back into their lives, that all the pieces of the jigsaw began to fit together for her. But, like a phoenix from the ashes, Emily knew she could rise to the challenge and adapt accordingly. She lived by the mantra of "what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger." If she couldn’t get herself and Miranda’s reputation through this, just what was she good for?

On the day the dual attacks at the townhouse and Miranda’s car occurred, Miranda had asked Emily to take the children and to keep them hidden away from the paparazzi and, more importantly, away from the bloody crime scene that was the townhouse. Emily and the twins had spent the first two days in the Ritz Carlton under tight security before moving to Miranda’s cabin in North Carolina with a security team in tow. It was understood that Emily would continue her guardianship duties until Miranda stated otherwise.

It had been over three weeks since the twins had seen their mother in what had been a much happier scene: surrounded by Christmas boxes, ribbons, and fairy lights. Through their own admission, Emily knew how much the whole situation had affected the teenagers. The girls were painfully aware of how much had changed in that short time and how removed they were from that Christmas morning filled with joy and laughter. In the aftermath of their mother’s car crash, they had been overwhelmed by the frightening news coverage of the police investigation which had been streamed directly from their home, and they had been smothered by a security team who watched their every move—having a mother whose private and professional life was frequently on public display meant that they had become accustomed to the media slurs and the hurtful comments, but this time it was different. Their new routine was a far cry from the usual attention they’d had to contend with in the past. Although they did not say it, Emily was sure that they longed to be gathered around that Christmas tree, safe in their Mother’s arms once more.

Of all the requests that Miranda had ever made of her, Emily knew without doubt that managing the twins would be her greatest challenge yet. From the offset, Emily had prepared herself for a battle with the spoiled and ill-mannered brats. After all, she had never treated her children as individuals before; they were always just an annoyance, an inconvenience, or something she had to check off on a "to-do" list. This was partly because she had never really had a chance to be alone with them for long periods of time, but mainly it was because she had never really wanted to.

Professionally, Emily was often accused of being uptight and judgemental, but as her close friends would attest, it was a complete façade, her Runway face. It was a persona she had adopted to survive in Miranda’s world. It was fair to say that of late her Runway face had almost become a permanent feature, but her true friends knew that wasn’t the real Emily.

The Runway mask had fallen the moment the girls had wrapped their arms around her. As raw emotion had poured from their youthful limbs, she had known that they needed a rock to cling to, not a jagged cliff face. It was as if Caroline and Cassidy had been locked in a darkened room, and by opening her arms to them, she had turned on the light. This had shocked her, how natural it felt as they clung to her side and held her hands. She had not thought she was capable of showing and feeling such warmth, but as she thought about the sensation, she acknowledged that it clearly had been something that they had all needed at the time.

Collectively the twins oozed Miranda’s mannerisms and reflected her intense eyes. They had an impressive ability to finish each other’s sentences, as if they were part of the same conscious mind. Also, they shared the same wicked sense of humor, which Emily found was similar to her own.

Another surprising revelation for Emily was her ability to tell them apart. She wondered if it had always been this obvious, and she had just never bothered to look. Caroline had a tendency to bite her lip when she was anxious, whereas Cassidy did not seem to show any kind of nerves or fear. Caroline had subtle patches of freckles on her cheeks, which became visible when she laughed. Yet, Cassidy’s freckles were restricted to the bridge of her nose. The most endearing feature in Emily’s opinion was their hair. Caroline’s hair had a life of its own with more kinks and flicks than a burlesque show. Cassidy’s hair, however, was perfect except for one unruly flick in front of her bangs, which behaved just like her mother’s at the end of a particularly long day at the office.  
That was not to say that they were perfect angels during their time together. They indulged in the usual adolescent tantrums, the heightened emotions and hormones playing havoc with their moods, and of course there was also a new ingredient added to the mix. It was something that Emily understood, for she had felt it herself many times over the past few years where Miranda was concerned.

It was jealousy.

The girls weren’t stupid. In fact, they were much more mature than Emily had ever given them credit for in the past. They understood who Andrea was and exactly what she meant to their mother. They knew it was dangerous for them to be in the city. They knew why they had been sent away. But, that didn’t mean that they were feeling any less hurt about being kept at arm's length and having to fight for Miranda’s attention. Their lives had been turned upside down, and in Emily’s opinion they had every right to act selfishly. But she felt like she was winning with them; she had done a good job with keeping them in check.

If there was anything that she had learned, it was that Andrea Sachs was Miranda’s Achilles' heel, and the sooner they all accepted that, the easier life would become.

~

Before they were due to leave for the cabin, Miranda had asked to see the girls. Emily had been nervous about taking them to the hospital, although not because she had felt unsafe. It was more that she was anxious about actually seeing Miranda herself. So far they had only communicated over the phone, and through e-mails and texts. Emily knew that a visit would be emotional for all of them, and she did not know if she would be able to hold it together face-to-face.

This scared her.

The dynamic between the two women had changed dramatically over the past two weeks. The fear and the constant need for approval had completely vanished from Emily’s psyche, and it had been replaced by an unspoken and shared respect. She knew that she needed to remain strong for both Miranda and the girls. She knew that this belief would help get her through however long she needed to take care of Miranda's daughters.

Seeing Miranda in the flesh had been the initial hurdle. She sported bruises and tiny glass cuts, which marred her usually flawless face. Despite Miranda's efforts, the makeup had not concealed the slowly healing damage. Lack of sleep had stripped the vibrant shine from her eyes, and worry had taken permanent residence in her brow. Emily could see it, the girls could see it, but no one mentioned it.

They had met in a small private room in the ward of the intensive care unit. The stiff plastic chairs, magnolia walls, and tattered magazines scattered across the coffee table were a stark contrast to their usual surroundings.

Despite her obvious physical discomfort, Miranda had greeted her children with open arms and lots of kisses. Emily had not intended to intrude on their private moment between mother and daughters and had taken her cue to leave almost immediately. However, much to Emily’s surprise, Miranda had taken hold of her arm and gestured for her to sit down. Although Emily had accepted that there had been a positive shift in their personal relationship, it did not mean that she wasn’t floored every time Miranda fed her a new crumb of affection. Taking the silent invitation as it was intended, a discreetly elated Emily had sat down immediately and observed the scene between mother and daughters as it had played out.

Caroline—who obviously had felt ecstatic to be back in her mother’s arms—talked incessantly and without interruption about where they had been, what they had done, and what they had seen. Whilst, Cassidy—who clearly had been less willing to forgive the situation their mother had placed them in—stayed attached to Emily’s side, nodding along timidly in agreement to Caroline’s wildly exaggerated stories of the news coverage they had seen and trying not to smile and giggle as her sister entertained them all.  
When the time had arrived for them to leave, Emily had seen the tears brim in all three sets of Priestly eyes, threatening to fall. She had felt the tug on her heartstrings as she had watched Miranda giving each child a kiss and hug with promises to be together soon. Assuming again that this was her prompt to leave, Emily once again had been taken by surprise when she was gripped by the arm and pulled into a genuine hug by Miranda. They had exchanged no words, but as their eyes had met, but Emily could clearly see what Miranda had been trying to say.

Thank you.

~

With much relief, after that first week, Emily had noticed some semblances of "Miranda" begin to return.

In addition to her daily phone calls and e-mails with her boss, Emily had given Nigel strict instructions to visit the hospital so that she could keep a picture of Miranda’s progress at the front of her mind’s eye. She had felt pride swell in her chest while listening to Nigel’s reports of the pressed, coiffed, and regal-like woman's gradual return as each day passed. Nevertheless, Emily had a feeling that Miranda was just using the monotonous routine to ground herself. Aside from the still visible cuts and bruises on her face, she was beginning to look and act like herself again, but Emily worried that it really was just an act.

Back at the office, Emily had trusted Carrie, the flaky second assistant, with the day-to-day running of the office administration. But, Emily had been sure to take care of everything else, from Miranda’s food, to her clothes, right down to the PR onslaught that raged against the daily news coverage. The press were permanently camped outside of the townhouse, the hospital, and the Runway offices, waiting for the money shots. Emily had even negotiated with the hospital administrators to allow Miranda to stay with Andrea night and day, and she had personally requested to be notified of any change in Andrea’s condition. All this to manage, as well as fielding all matters relating to the on-going police investigation meant that she was running in overdrive times infinity. Miranda’s waylaid promises to move her up the Elias-Clarke chain had not even crossed Emily's mind, and for the first time in her life, she actually felt fulfilled. Gone was the "woe is me" attitude; she felt like she could take on the world and win.

~

On the fifth day of Andy being in the intensive care unit, her vitals stabilized and the hospital called Emily relay the doctors' decision to bring Andy out of the medical coma. In some way, even with the hopeful news, Emily now felt even more helpless than before.

All they could do was wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**(January)**

Miranda was perched on an aging computer chair behind a plastic desk in the corner of Andrea’s hospital room. The small desk was covered with the glossy prints and mocked-up pages that Nigel had given Miranda to keep herself occupied. The room was silent except for the rhythmic sounds of machines that monitored Andrea’s every function and the random insults that spilled from Miranda’s lips as she poured over the sub-standard efforts of her team.

"I mean really, darling." Miranda held up the image and spoke to Andrea’s sleeping form. "Am I reaching for the stars here?" Miranda shook her head and marked another scathing remark on a sticky pad with red pen before placing it on the image and moving on to the next one.

Over the past week, Miranda had grown used to the frequent coming and goings of the nursing staff, and so she did not bother to look up from her work when she heard the door to the private suite open. Since she had not been expecting any visitors as such, the audible gasp from the doorway grabbed her attention and made her jump in her seat. Looking up at the two figures frozen in the doorway, it only took a moment for whatever color that had been left in her cheeks to drain to grey. She didn’t need an introduction. Her eyes, his nose, those cheekbones, that thick brown hair: they were Andrea’s parents, Richard and Diana Sachs.

Miranda had known that Emily had finally found them.

Tracking down the Sachs in Europe had not been easy. They were initially thought to have been in the Spanish town of Marbella, but due to the incompetence of the hotel staff, Emily’s urgent message had not been passed on before the couple had checked out and moved on to the next exciting stop on their European trip. The girl had searched half of Europe before she had finally located them in the remote mountains of the Aragon's Pyrenees. Miranda remembered the wave of relief she had felt when Emily had told her that they were on their way. When they had started the search—after Andrea’s first attack—she recalled how Andrea had been worried that she would ruin their "once in a lifetime" holiday, and she had insisted that when they were found, she would speak to them just to let them know that she was fine and not to worry. But, things were different now, Andrea was not fine, and Miranda knew that finding them and bringing them to New York was the right thing to do.

So, she had known that they would be arriving any day, but as they stood before her, she realised that she had not prepared herself for the impact of this moment. What was she supposed to say to them? How were they going to react to her being there? She cleared her throat and rose slowly from her chair, drawing their attention away from the hospital bed for but a moment.

Re-fixating on their daughter's unconscious body, Diana released a sob and moved toward the bed quickly. "My baby!" she cried before taking her daughter’s lifeless hand and running the other gently over Andy's pale face.

Richard stayed in the doorway; his shock had rooted him to the spot.

Diana muffled another sob and turned to face Miranda. She stared at her for several moments, composing herself before speaking. "I want to know everything," she said, her breath ragged.

Miranda straightened out her clothes and nodded silently. "Shall we step outside?" she suggested. Diana looked at her questioningly, as if unwilling to release her daughter’s hand without an explanation. "I’d like to think that she can hear us." Miranda added.

They left the room and moved to the family room just along the corridor, the same room that Miranda had been in with her daughters just days before. Miranda felt two sets of eyes boring into her back as she led the way, and she couldn't help but compare the sound of her stilettos echoing down the long corridor to a drumbeat as she marched toward her own execution.

 _What do their expectations of "everything" entail?_ Miranda wondered.

As the Sachs seated themselves in the plastic seats of the clinically decorated room, Miranda chose to stand and pour them all a fresh cup of coffee from the coffee pot, which sat upon the percolator in the room.

"Cream and sugar?" Miranda enquired.

"Yes, please." Andrea’s mother answered for both of them.

Handing them their cups, Miranda took her seat in the chair opposite the couple. "What do you know?" Miranda asked, trying to gauge how much detail she would need to reveal.

"Very little," Diana answered shakily. "Only what Emily has told us. None of this has reached Europe, and we were intentionally cut off from the internet."

Miranda took a deep breath and began. "Well then, let’s start from the beginning." She cleared her throat gently. "A couple of days before New Year's, Andrea had been given a lead on a story that she had been working on for some time. The story was a lot deeper…more dangerous...than she had realised, and as a result she then became involved in one of the largest police corruption cases our state has ever seen."

Diana looked at Richard. "We saw that. Didn’t we? It’s been all over the papers this week," Diana confirmed. "But there was no mention of Andy."

Miranda continued. "The lead turned out to be through a police officer. He chose to use her as his own confessional box, and then he took his own life in her presence. Fleeing from the scene, she was brutally attacked and injured by an unknown assailant."

"Oh my god. Is that what he did to her?" Diana sobbed, pointing toward the door and to the room where the unconscious body of her youngest daughter lay. Richard took her hand and stroked it gently.

"No, I’m afraid not." Miranda spoke with an air of sadness. "There was a second attack."

"Oh, Christ," Richard cursed, shaking his head as he spoke for the first time.

"She was discharged from the hospital after a few days. I refused to let her go home alone and insisted that she stay at my house. I hired a security team to protect us, and we were assured by the District Attorney’s office that they had everything in hand. She was doing well…" Miranda paused, lost in her thoughts. "It came out nowhere," she added after a few moments.

"Miranda, what happened?" Diana pressed.

"We know that a man broke into my home. We know that he murdered my housekeeper, and he seriously injured Andrea and her bodyguard. The police tell me that the bodyguard killed the attacker and that Andrea is very lucky to be alive. But until she wakes up, we will not know the true depth of the horrors that occurred on that day." The tears rolled down Miranda’s face, and for once, she did not feel ashamed to show her emotions.

"Weren’t you there?" Diana asked through her silent tears, having assumed from Miranda’s cuts and bruises that she had been with her daughter.

"No, I had left the house. The security team have since told me that it is possible that he had planned to wait for me to leave before entering the house. These…" Miranda waved her hand over her visible wounds. "…are from the crash."

Diana and Richard’s faces jointly twisted in confusion.

"They came for me, too," Miranda confirmed, trying to keep her voice steady. "A car chase in mid-town during peak traffic was never going to end well. Don’t you agree? We were lucky." Miranda shook the morbid thoughts from her head and brought them back on track. "Believe me when I say that we took the threat very seriously; we had police and private security protection. The police tell me that these men wanted to hurt her, and as much as I play that day over in my head, I don’t know how we could have known they were going to do what they did. "

"Why?" Richard asked.

"I don’t know if we’ll ever truly know the full reasons why these people committed these heinous crimes," Miranda answered.

"No." Richard affirmed. "I mean why are you here? Why do you care?"

Miranda took a deep breath, trying to find the strength for the inevitable battle that was about to commence.

"Do we need to state the obvious?" Miranda stated coolly.

~

Andrea had a distinct feeling of déjà vu as the faint sound of the machines beeped, squeaked, and pinged in a harmonious rhythm with each other. She had been here before. But not here, no, there was something different. Her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool balls, and her throat was raw. Her eyes burned beneath their closed lids, and the pain flowed through her body in waves, contracting in every muscle from head to toe. She felt like she needed to scream out to make it stop. _Please make it stop!_ But there was something pulling her, keeping her grounded, a single voice, a familiar, comforting tone that instantly made her feel safe.

"Mom?"

~

There was no denying it; Miranda was exhausted. She hadn’t had a full night's sleep in over a week. Every part of her body ached, and the cot bed in Andrea’s room certainly hadn’t helped her situation. Whilst she had initially refused Diana’s suggestion to go home, deep down she knew that it was for the best. She told herself that she could have a hot bath and sleep in a proper bed. Immerse herself in some sense of normalcy, even if was just for an hour or two. And quite frankly, she didn’t have the strength to argue with the infuriating woman.

Going "home," however, was quite out of the question. The townhouse was out of bounds, wrapped in police tape and crawling with forensic officers. It would be several more days before she was able to assess the damage for herself.

Stepping into the hospital lobby, the security team surrounded the Miranda as she was guided discreetly out through the deserted ambulance bay into the waiting police cruiser and away from the prying eyes of the press. The monstrous, over-bearing vehicle dominated the road and played its part in alleviating any predisposed anxiety she may have felt after her recent road traffic accident. Pulling up outside the hotel, Miranda was glad to find that the exit from the vehicle to the lobby was equally as smooth, and before she knew it, she was alone in her usual hotel suite at the Ritz Carlton.

The first thing she noticed was the silence; it was suffocating and eerie. It was a completely alien feeling. Miranda always had craved alone time; never had she feared it. That wasn't true now.

Rushing to the window, she frantically pushed it open to breathe in the fresh January air and absorb the noise of traffic below. Panicked breaths turned to angry sobs as she allowed the repressed rage to flow out of her system. She thought about her conversation with Andrea’s parents. She had told them that the attack couldn’t have been stopped; that there was nothing they could have done to stop it. But she didn’t believe that, not for one second. There was nothing that was outside her control. She clenched her fists, not registering the pain as her long nails pierced the skin of her palm.

Her problem was she wasn’t in control anymore.

Andrea was in a hospital bed, she couldn’t be with her children, and she couldn’t focus on her work. She was mess. Slowly but surely her sobs began to subside, and her defeated body slid down the wall. Sitting on the floor, she hid her head in her hands. _Everything will be fine,_ she told herself over and over…she just wasn’t sure she believed it.

It was some time later when a shiver gripped Miranda's body and she woke up suddenly. She realised from the chill in the room and the fading light that she had fallen asleep in her crouched position on the floor. She groaned as she stretched out her limbs and awkwardly pushed herself up off the floor. As she closed the window, she felt warmth envelope her body almost immediately, but not quite enough to stop the shivering. She didn’t trust herself not to fall asleep again in the bath, so she decided a hot shower was in order.

Picking up her cellphone from the table, she was surprised to see several missed calls from a local number and several voicemail messages listed on the dial screen. Panic tightened her gut and swirled in her stomach as she shakily hit the button for her voicemail.

"Miranda, it’s Richard here… errr, Richard Sachs. She’s awake. She’s asking for you." Miranda’s hands were shaking when she ended the call. Her mind rushed around, bumping into itself, and she was hit by a full range of emotions all at once: elation, regret, relief, panic.

She struggled to recall another time in her life when she had felt such emotional turmoil. All her life, she had strived to be in control of herself and everything around her. Even after Miranda’s mother had died when she was a teenager and her family had begun to fall apart, she had known what she needed to do. Through the years, she learned to pick the battles she could win, knowing when it was time to walk away. Gradually over time as her reputation preceded her, fewer situations arose that she had needed to back down from. Alas, in just a few short weeks, her world had been turned upside down, all because she had listened to her heart and not her head. Perhaps what scared her the most was that she didn’t regret any of it. Her only regret was having left the hospital since she had not been with Andrea when she had woken up.

Miranda gathered her purse quickly and slipped back into her previously discarded shoes. The heads of her two personal bodyguards shot up in surprise as she stepped through the adjoining door to their suite.

"Come on!" She gestured impatiently toward the door. "I don’t have all day."

The elevator operator carried them down to the lobby in silence, clearly observing the atmosphere; they were not looking for polite conversation.

Miranda stared at her dishevelled image in the pristine mirrors and flared her nostrils in disgust. She had showered and changed into a fresh set of clothes earlier this in the hospital. To the untrained eye she looked impeccable, but then Miranda didn’t have an untrained eye. She knew she looked like she had been dragged through a hedge backward.

 _Damn it!_ she cursed internally. _Why the hell did I leave the hospital? Andrea must be so scared. What if she thinks I have left her? Abandoned her?_

The cruiser pulled up just outside the hotel reception as Miranda and her two guards glided through the lobby in close formation. Miranda saw the heads of several patrons lift as she and her entourage passed by but, thankfully none of them took a second glance. The driver had already received instructions regarding their destination over his radio, and as soon as the car doors closed, they sped off into the midtown traffic.

~

"I’m sorry for ruining your holiday, Mom," Andy croaked as the doctors and nurses continued to fuss around her, checking vitals, responses, and reflexes.

"Oh, my baby." Her mother shook her head. "Why would you ever think that your health and safety were not the utmost priority for us?"

"I…" She was lost for words.

"No more of that nonsense, okay?" her mom pressed.

Andy nodded and looked up expectantly as Richard re-entered the room. "Did you reach her, Daddy?"

"I left her a couple of messages, sweetheart. I’m sure she's on her way."

"Andy, what is this with Miranda?" her mother asked, screwing up her face in confusion.

"Mom," Andy warned. "Not now." She gestured with her eyes at the nurses and medical staff in the room. Miranda was a very public figure, and the papers all paid top dollar for any juicy insight on the "Ice Queen." Andy wasn’t about to hand it to them on a plate.

"Oh," her mom answered, raising her eyebrows curiously at Andy's father.

The hustle and bustle of the medical staff gradually dissipated, leaving Andy, conscious yet fragile, with her parents.

"You’ve been in the wars, haven’t you?" her dad said softly as he gently cupped his large hand around her cheek and gave Andy an affectionate smile.

Andy leaned into her father’s gentle touch and closed her eyes. The room remained silent for a few moments before Andy took a deep breath—well as deep as her injuries would permit—and looked at her mother. "Ok, Mom," Andy said petulantly. "What do you want to say?"

"Oh, don’t be like that, Andrea," her mom answered.

"Come on. Whatever you have to say, you might as well get it out there," Andy snipped, refusing to let her mother speak to her like she was a child.

"Well…" her mother began. "Did you honestly expect me to come here, to learn about all of this horrible stuff that you’ve been involved in, and to find out that you are having an affair with a woman—a very famous, very wealthy, and very much older woman, I might add— and not have an opinion about it?"

"Mom." Andy sighed, letting the warning slip back into her tone. "I don’t believe it." She sighed again as pure exhaustion threatened to take over.

She had known that the "Miranda" conversation would not go well, regardless of whether she had told them over afternoon tea or whether they had seen it splashed all over Page Six. She knew that everything her mother said was technically true. But she wasn’t about to sit back and let her mother use those words in a derogatory context. "I have just woken up after being stabbed. After a disgusting man, a man who will probably haunt my dreams for the rest of my life, ran a hunting knife through my rib cage and almost killed me. You want to lecture me about my life choices, about who I can and cannot fall in love with?" Andy was seething, and the monitors connected to the body signalled her elevated state of angst.

"Andy, please calm down," her father urged. "That’s not what she was saying. We are not judging. We know it’s real. You just have to look at Miranda to see that. Everything has just come as a shock, okay?"

Andy nodded in response and did not fight the brimming tears as they spilled over her cheeks.

There were a few moments of awkward silence as everyone tried to compose themselves.

Andy's mom cleared her throat and tried a different tact. "Miranda told us what happened. Just how much do you remember about the attack?" She stroked her daughter’s the pale white hand as she looked into Andy's eyes.

"Everything." Andy answered sorrowfully.

~

The cruiser screeched to a halt outside of the hospital doors, drawing the attention of the larger than anticipated waiting group of photographers.

"Shit," Miranda cursed aloud. _Just what I need_ , she thought. She had foolishly hoped that she could avoid stepping into the bullpen, especially when she had much bigger and more important things to tend to. But, it looked like she would have no choice this time. Without the pre-announcement of her arrival at the hospital, she knew she would be forced to enter the building by the front just like the rest of the mere mortals. In preparation for the vultures, she had retouched her makeup and hair in the car en-route and donned a pair of next season’s Versace sunglasses. Yes, it was disgustingly vain, but she had an image to protect.

The bodyguard beside her turned to face Miranda. "You wait there until I come around to get you, Ms. Priestly. Is that clear?"

She nodded and watched him exit vehicle as an explosion of flashbulbs erupted on the other side of the blacked out windows. Once he reached the door on her side of the car, the second bodyguard stepped out of the vehicle from the driver's seat. As her door opened, she braced herself and took the outstretched hand of the bodyguard as he reached in to aid her exit. The two men flanked her and cleared a path as they moved toward the entrance, ignoring the catcalls and keeping her head down until they were inside.

Clearly, the woman at reception had spotted the car as it pulled up or had heard the ruckus as Miranda’s party had entered the building since she knew who Miranda was and why she was there. Noticing that the receptionist had hit the release button to the security door, Miranda and her guards passed through without breaking their stride. Miranda made sure to catch the receptionist’s eye before nodding her thank you as they passed.

Once behind the security doors, Miranda opened her stride, moving in almost double time toward her destination. Her four-inch heels clicked and clacked along the tiled-floor corridors as she turned several corners with the ease and grace of a gliding swan and the two men cantered alongside her.

Within minutes she arrived outside the door to Andrea’s room, and her hand rested on the door handle as she paused to collect herself.

~

The door to the private suite opened, and all eyes turned to face Miranda. She stood in the doorway, windswept and slightly out of breath, frozen to the spot while staring at the object of her attention.

Miranda and Andrea locked eyes. The silence seemed to last an eternity, as if they were searching for the words they needed to say to each other.

_I'm sorry. I want you. I need you. I love you._

But now was not the time, and they both knew this. It was Andrea who finally broke the deadlock with a smile—a smile that could have melted the polar ice caps—and Miranda smiled right back. That’s when everything and everyone in the room disappeared apart from the two of them. Miranda swept across the room and stopped at the side of the bed. She cupped Andrea’s face and leaned in to deliver a sweet yet tender kiss on her lips. She rested her forehead against Andrea’s and breathed in her scent.

"Don’t you ever leave me again!" she whispered through clenched teeth.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**(January)**

 District Attorney Beatrice Sharpe donned her sunglasses to shield her eyes from the early morning sunlight and stepped out of her pseudo-partner’s government-issued vehicle.  Captain Bobby Moore groaned as he stretched his back and scratched at his day old facial hair. 

Their key and sole remaining witness was finally awake. 

Their team had received the call that previous evening to confirm that Andrea Sachs had awoken from her weeklong coma, and she was ready to talk. Such was the seriousness of the crime and the importance of the case that the two senior members of staff had taken it upon themselves to complete the witness statement. However, the truth of the matter was that they both had too much invested in the case and in the girl to delegate this as a menial task. This was possibly the biggest case of their careers. Too much had gone wrong, and at this stage, Andrea Sachs was too important to them.

Exhaustion. It seemed to follow them everywhere they went. It marred their faces, slowed their movements, and hung on to every crease of their being. 

The investigation had been nonstop from the start, and since the brutal attack just over a week ago—which had seen the expiration of all their witnesses, bar one—the team had been thrown into sonic overdrive. 

As far as Sharpe was concerned, the call from the hospital had not come a moment too soon; she was hoping it was the jolt they all needed to carry on. It felt like a boost of hope for the team and the entire prosecution. 

“Do you think ‘she’ will be on the offense or the defense today?” Moore asked, breaking the silence. 

Sharpe smiled. “What is it about Miranda that scares you?” she teased. “I’ve seen you break some of the hardest men in the game, and somehow this tiny little woman has the ability to make you cower like a small boy. I find it fascinating!”

Moore formed an imaginary dagger with his fist and drove it with an exaggerated fashion straight into his heart. “Euuhhhh!” he feigned. “That was cold.” 

Sharpe laughed aloud. “She will be perfectly cooperative,” she assured, trying not to smile so brightly. 

“Oh, yeah?” he smiled, and placed an arm around her shoulders, giving her a playful squeeze. “Dragon whisperer!” 

_< Then>_

_Making it through the eye of the storm had not been easy. Many people had fallen along the way, and some had been dragged through it, kicking and screaming._

_On the night after the attack on the Priestly townhouse, as forensics scoured the scene of the crime and Moore spearheaded the investigation, Sharpe had been left with the task of foraging through the emotional wreckage in hopes of salvaging the case._ _It was a pivotal point in the investigation, but she knew if there was anyone who could get them through to the other side, it was Moore._

_There was a plethora of evidence to trawl, and while their key witness, Andrea Sachs, was fighting for her life in surgery, Miranda—the so-called Ice Queen of the fashion world— was alone. Fear and uncertainty had long since taken over any rational thought Miranda could form. Sharpe could plainly see that it was only a matter of time before she broke entirely._

_Although they had been acquaintances for some time, they had never really had a reason to exchange anything but social niceties in the past. Throughout the case, Sharpe and Miranda had somehow forged a bond. Though they hadn’t officially acknowledged it, they had definitely made a connection. Sharpe knew the truth of what Andrea meant to Miranda. It, therefore, should not have come as such a shock to see Miranda looking so hopeless, broken, and lost. But it did._

_A pang of guilt sat heavy in her gut when she thought about Moore sifting through the metaphorical rubble. His face flashed in front of her mind, his shallow grey eyes filled with so much hurt when she had rejected his advances. She had thought that he knew her better than she knew herself, but if that was true, why did he have to go and kiss her? He should have known that it was wrong, that it could never Work. Right?_

_Sharpe tried to force those thoughts from her mind.  He did know her. Understood her. This was why she knew he would understand her reasons for staying with Miranda instead of helping with the investigation. Beatrice Sharpe could not let another person fall on their path to justice. With the threat of devastation looming, she had to help Miranda get through this nightmare._

_~_

_“So…” Miranda spoke, for the first time in hours._

_They were alone in a small room in the I.C.U ward, waiting for the Doctor to update them on Andrea’s condition. Although Miranda’s voice had been barely above a whisper, it had felt deafening to Sharpe’s ears in the quiet room._

_“…why are you here?” Miranda continued._

_Sharpe took a moment to let the question absorb. The last few hours had given her plenty of time to rationalize her thoughts and feelings on the matter. To prove to herself that her instincts about the woman and their connection had been correct. Miranda was worthy of her compassion and empathy._

_The sorrow and the anguish that spilled from Miranda wasn’t an act. She had proved that she was human, vulnerable, and capable of great love and fear. Sharpe told herself this was what had driven her to stay. She had held her while she had cried—a moment never to be spoken of—she had held her hand and promised her that everything would be okay. She had stayed by her side as they took Miranda to x-rays and treated her wounds from the car crash. And when they were told that Andrea had made it through the surgery, she had continued to stay by Miranda’s side because…it was the right thing to do._

_However, she pondered. Did Miranda want to hear this? Would she perceive her intentions as self-gratification and assume that it was fuelled by pity? Maybe. Maybe not. So she decided that the best thing to do was just to be honest with her, regardless of how Miranda chose to accept the truth._

_“Because you needed me, and tonight I think I needed you, too,” she breathed softly._

_After a few moments of silence, Miranda responded, “Very well,” and nodded agreeably._

_It took a couple of moments for the tension to disperse between the two, and Sharpe saw it as a perfect opportunity to refill their coffee cups from the freshly-brewed pot in the corner of the room. She felt Miranda’s eyes follow her as she completed the task and was not surprised when she heard her speak again._

_“Well then, you know all about me and my sad little story, Beatrice. I feel you are holding me at an unfair advantage.”_

_“What would you like to know?” Sharpe enquired, handing over the steaming hot cup. She watched as Miranda dubiously eyed the contents before taking a sip._

_As if revived by the scorching hot caffeine, she smiled and asked her question with an air of nonchalance. “What is going on between you and the captain?”_

_“Nothing.” Sharpe answered immediately and somewhat defensively. She had not been expecting that chosen line of questioning. “He is a colleague. It’s strictly professional.”_

_“Oh please, don’t insult my intelligence. It’s written all over both of you.”_

_“What is?” Sharpe’s mind raced as she tried to recall a situation where Miranda could have formed such an assumption. But at the same time, she knew that Miranda never missed a thing. “Seriously, Miranda. Nothing is or ever will happen there.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because…erm…I…”_

_Miranda exhaled loudly and looked at her in an exasperated fashion._

_Sharpe tried to explain again, but found herself stumbling to find any valid reason. “He is a trusted friend, and we have been through a lot together. I love him, and I can’t image my life without him. But, what is it they say? ‘You don’t shit where you eat.’”_

_“Unacceptable,” Miranda scoffed. “If there is anything I have learned from all of this, it is that life is too short.”_

_“It’s not that simple, Miranda. I admit that we are close; we have a lot of things in common. But, I think we are too alike. No, it couldn’t work.” Miranda’s eyes continued to bear down on her. “Oh...” She sighed becoming frustrated under the pressure of Miranda’s gaze. “Sometimes I think he’s just as fucked up as I am, and you know two wrongs don’t make a right. I just…I can’t lose what we have.”_

_Miranda took another sip of her coffee as she pondered Sharpe’s words. “You could spend forever asking, what if?  I know it isn’t easy giving up your heart. I’ve been where you are. It took me a long time to let go and to make that leap. Whilst I realise that my hand was forced because of the situation, I don’t regret it, and if I knew then what I know now, I believe that I would have done it sooner.”_

_There was a gentle knock on the door, forcing both women to refocus their attention. A middle-aged man in dark scrubs entered, and Sharpe found herself instinctively taking Miranda’s hand in anticipation. “Ms. Priestly. I have some good news.”  The doctor announced brightly, and Sharpe felt Miranda squeeze her hand in what she could only assume was utter relief._

_They listened intently without interruption as the surgeon explained Andrea’s situation and what to expect over the next twenty-four hours and beyond._

_As the doctor left the room, both women let out an audible sigh and released their clasped hands._

_There was a little speck of light at the end of the tunnel; a small ray of hope had returned._

_“You should go,” Miranda stated._

_“No, Miranda. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”_

_“Nonsense; you’ve done enough. I think you need to go and see someone.”_

_Sharpe’s brow furrowed in confusion._

_“Patience is not usually my strong point, but I have a waiting game to play here, so please believe me when I say that I will wait for her forever. You have more important places to be because I meant what I said: don’t waste time on the ‘what ifs.’ You need to live as if there is no tomorrow.”_

_“I’m scared.” Sharpe breathed._

_“Do you love him?” Miranda pushed._

_“Yes. But…”_

_“No, no.” Miranda interrupted. “I asked if you loved him, and you said yes. That’s all.”_

_“God, there is just no reasoning with you, is there?” Sharpe sighed with a smile._

_“You will come to learn and understand that I am always right. Now, do not disappoint me, Beatrice.”_

_**_

_Ignoring the barrage of questions and pushing through the exploding flashes of light from the waiting reporters and photographers, Sharpe settled into a waiting squad car and hitched a ride back downtown._

_Miranda was right. She didn’t want to be alone anymore. She had been hurt many times in the past, but that didn’t have to mean that he would hurt her. She knew that she felt safe when she was with him. She knew that he would always be there for her and that, most importantly, he had seen her true colors and her darkest moments, and he still claimed to love her._ _She had known him for the best part of a decade, before the money came, before her son was born, and before her marriage hit the rocks. He had always been there in some way, shape, or form. A constant. Never judging, never asking for more…until now._

_She felt foolish. She had been selfish when she had brushed off his advances, as if they had meant nothing to her. Had she ruined her chance with him?_

_She hoped it was not too late._

_It was late evening, and she knew that he would have been working tirelessly on re-interviewing the suspects since he had left the hospital earlier that day. In truth, she couldn’t remember the last time either of them had been home or had more than a couple of hours’ sleep._

_She left the squad car with urgency and rushed through the metal detectors and security barriers, which guarded the entrance to precinct, without pause. She continued past the lobby elevators and took the stairs two at a time up to the third floor. She was out of breath when she reached the bullpen, but she barely noticed her lungs burning as there was only one thing on her mind._

_“Shit!” She cursed aloud as she found Moore’s shared office empty._

_“Is everything okay, Ma’am?” Sharpe spun around on her heel, suddenly aware of the sea of faces; uniformed and non-uniformed police officers had paused in their activities and were looking in her direction._

_Sharpe gulped air in an attempt to regulate her breathing. She pulled at her shirt, pushing it in to the back of her pants where it had become unravelled, and reached up to tuck an errant strand of red hair behind her ear. “Errr, do you know where I might find Captain Moore, Sergeant?” She took another deep breath and smiled sweetly at Sergeant Avery, trying for an air of nonchalance._

_”Yes, Ma’am. He’s in Interview Room C. Would you like one of the boys to take you on down?” he offered._

_“That won’t be necessary; thank you, Sergeant.” She nodded, and with her heart rate returning to a reasonably normal beat, she turned to take the elevators this time._

_Stepping off the elevator at the basement level, Sharpe found the long, straight corridor deserted. The sound of her heels bounced off the walls to an almost deafening beat. Reaching the interview suite, she paused for another deep breath before knocking gently on the observation room door and entering. Her arrival drew little attention from the Detective Sergeant who was focused on the interview in progress._

_Moore stood behind the shielded glass still battling on, adrenalin clearly pumping in his veins; she was proud to see that he was working the room like a prizefighter._

_She waited patiently for the interview to draw to a close, moving out of the observation room to the hall in the hope of intercepting him as he left the room. She watched him carefully as he emerged, his shoulders slumping almost immediately as he dropped his interrogation façade._

_As he looked up and caught sight of her, his face lit up instantly. ”Hey, you,” he said through his smile._

_”Hey, yourself,” she smiled in return. “Can we talk…in private?” she asked, gesturing with her head to move out of the exposed corridor._

_“Sure thing,” he answered. Stepping forward, he took her gently by the elbow and led her into an empty observation room. He closed the door behind them and leaned against it._

_Sharpe suddenly felt unsure of what to say and how._

_“Are you ok, Bea?”_

_She heard the concern in his voice, and her heart melted. She knew that in that moment she would never be able to find the words to explain to him exactly how she felt. She would just need to show him. Taking his unshaven, shadowed face between her hands, Beatrice pulled him down to meet her lips._

_He froze, as if unsure of what was happening or whether to believe it was. But then after a moment, when she felt him wrap his strong arms around her and pull her closer to his body, she knew that he was right there with her. As he deepened their kiss, she felt the walls between them crumble. She felt all the pent up anger, sorrow, and passion pour out. The battle and the surrender was played out in one act._

_“I want you.” She whispered against his lips. “I need you.”_

_And that was that. She had stopped denying her heart. She had taken what wanted. There would be no regrets. What would be would be._

_< Now> _

Reaching the doors to the hospital entrance Moore dropped his arm from Sharpe’s shoulder. She caught his hand as it fell to his side and gave it a tight squeeze. The contact was brief, but it said everything that she needed to say in that moment, the words echoing loudly in her mind. 

_We can do anything together._


	4. Chapter 4

**(January)**

Whilst the details and images replayed in her mind on a constant loop, this would the first time that Andy voiced the details of the attack since waking up. Miranda and her parents hadn’t pushed, and she hadn’t offered. 

She had been on edge all morning with her parents, Miranda, and the nurses. Often snapping without provocation, every word she uttered was tainted with condescension and anger. Her so-called “attitude”—as her mother had put it—was most certainly out of character and had even caused a few raised eyebrows from Miranda. 

“Mother, for Christ’s sake!” Andy cursed as her mother attempted to fluff up Andy’s pillow for the one-millionth time that morning. “Will you just stop? I am perfectly comfortable as I am. God, don’t you have someone else to bother?”

Andy saw the look of hurt flash across her mother’s face as well as the look of disappointment as it spread across her father’s face. 

Her mother’s jaw clenched   as she, no doubt, bit back an equally sharp retort. Emotions were running high. Andy didn’t mean it, but she couldn’t help it. Andy watched helplessly as her mom picked up her bag and coat and left the room without another word. 

“Mom…” Andy called out half-heartedly. Her father cast another look of disappointment her way and shook his head. 

Andy hung her head, embarrassed by her behavior. ”Dad,” she whispered, fearful that her voice would break and the tears would fall. “Will you tell her that I’m sorry?”  She looked up to see him smile softly and nod. 

He leaned in to kiss her temple tenderly. “I know you are, sweetheart. She just needs time to adjust. It’s a lot for her to take in.”

“I know.” Andy sniffed, trying to hold back a new wave of tears. She had got what she wanted by making her mother leave. _But at what cost?_ All she seemed to do was hurt people; she had left a trail of pain in her wake. Hurting everyone she loved. _When will this nightmare be over?_

Her father picked up his coat and moved to the door before looking at Miranda imploringly. “You’ll call us if there is any change, won’t you?” 

“Of course,” she acknowledged. 

Alone with Miranda again, the air was tense, and the sound of the machines and monitors surrounding Andy’s bed suddenly was deafening and claustrophobic. Her heart began to race when Miranda rose from her chair. At first she thought she was going to leave as well. 

“Do we need to talk about what just happened?” Miranda enquired. 

Andy reached for Miranda’s hand, wincing at the stretch of muscles and tissue that were not quite ready to move that way just yet. “Ouch!” she voiced sheepishly. 

Miranda pursed her lips in displeasure but stroked her hand in sympathy. 

“I’d rather we didn’t,” Andy stated imploringly. 

“Very well.” Miranda agreed. 

The original plan had been to get her parents to leave, as she couldn’t bear the thought of her mother and father hearing the details of her ordeal or of what they might think of their little girl. Instigating the fight had seemed like the easier option. But, Andy had no intention of letting Miranda go anywhere. Their relationship was so new and fragile; without full disclosure Andrea knew that it didn’t stand a chance. She needed Miranda to be with her; she needed Miranda to hear and feel what she was about to say because this was a one-time thing, and she didn’t think she had the strength to do it again. 

When the visitors arrived, it didn’t take long for them to get down to business. Although she had been questioned by both Sharpe and Moore separately in the past, they somehow seemed more intimidating as a duo. Even after Sharpe tried to put her at ease, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being interrogated like one of their criminals. 

“Just tell us everything you can remember. It’s fine if you need to take a break.” 

“Okay.” Andy nodded. She told herself that she would feel better after she got through it. She just needed to get it out of her head, and she would feel safe again.  

“I was hungry, so I had headed down the stairs for some breakfast. I recall looking at the clock and thinking how it was unusual that Juliana hadn’t called me or chased me down to the kitchen for food. I don’t remember the exact moment of when I knew something was wrong. I just know it happened. There was this feeling of pure, unadulterated fear filling me from head to toe.  The house was silent. I couldn’t hear the TV chattering or Juliana singing as she worked.” 

“She was a god-awful singer,” Miranda added in an effort to put Andrea at ease. 

Andy reached for Miranda’s hand and squeezed it gently to acknowledge her words before continuing. 

“I couldn’t get through the kitchen door. Something was pressed against it, and I just couldn’t fathom what it could be. So I pushed.” She released an unexpected sob and quickly sucked in a deep breath to cover it. “Did you know that the human body holds approximately ten pints of blood? I’ve always wondered how that was possible, but I don’t need to wonder anymore.” She paused and looked down at her lap; her fingers traced the pattern on the blanket as the others in the room remained silent and patient. “The blood was everywhere. I’ve never seen so much of it in my life. It was wet and sticky on my feet. But, I couldn’t find where it was coming from on her body. There was just so much blood. I couldn’t stop it…and then I realised that he had slit her…”

“It’s okay, Andy. We know what he did. You don’t need to say it,” Sharpe interrupted, no doubt wanting to spare her from having to describe the details. Andy nodded, and Miranda tightened her grip on her hand. “I couldn’t think straight. I knew I needed to get out, but everything seemed impossible. The house phone wasn’t in its cradle on the worktop, so I tried to go for the front door. But, then I could hear him moving upstairs.” Andy paused as she mentally retraced her steps. Her eyes grew wide as she reached a moment of clarity. “He must have already been up there looking for me before I came down to the kitchen! He was trying to catch me unaware like he had with Juliana and Jake.”

“Why didn’t you go out the front door?” Miranda interrupted, unable to supress her distress.

Andy shook her head in self-doubt and looked Miranda in the eye. “I didn’t think I’d make it. You know the latches on that door have always been my nemesis.” She laughed nervously. “I backtracked and went into the front room, thinking I could get out through the den. But that’s when I found Jake. I thought he was dead at first...” She paused in her train of thought and turned to question her interviewers. “Have you spoken to him, Jake? Miranda told me he is doing well.” 

Both Sharpe and Moore nodded. “Yes, we interviewed him a couple of days ago. He asked about you,” Moore answered.

“He pulled the trigger, didn’t he?” Andy asked. 

“Yes, he did." Moore confirmed. "Can you tell us what happened after the 911 call dropped?” 

“It all happened so fast. Jake gave me his gun and told me to get out, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave him, so I waited for ‘him’ to come to me.”

“That decision probably saved your life,” Moore reassured her. 

“I’d never fired a gun before. I didn’t expect it to be so powerful.”

“So, you fired at the attacker?” Moore clarified. 

“Yes. But I missed him, and that’s when he ran at me.” 

“Do you remember how many shots were released?” Moore asked.

Andy shook her head. She didn’t think she could have managed more than one shot, but she couldn’t be sure. “Once, maybe twice? I fought as best as I could, but he was so strong. He pinned me to the floor, and the more I struggled, the more it hurt.” Tears ran down Andy’s cheeks, and Miranda handed her a handkerchief to wipe her face. “I swear he knew me; he knew who I was,” she stated, feeding the soft cotton of the handkerchief through her fingers rather than using it for its intended use. 

“What do you mean?” Shape inquired.

“He knew my name. He knew where to hit me, just where my shoulder is injured. I remember very clearly that when he spoke to me, it was as if it was personal. He said that he always finishes what he starts…I think he was the man who shot me, the same guy.” 

“Yes, we think so, too,” Moore answered.  

Andy sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  

“Do you need to take a break?” Sharpe asked. 

Andy shook her head and continued. “He had a knife; I don’t know where it came from, somewhere on his belt, maybe? He climbed on top of me, ripping my shirt open and running his knife over my skin like it was some game that he was getting off on. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was going to make it last, draw it out for as long as he could. But I think he was either incredibly cocky or eternally stupid. I could hear the sirens; surely he could, too?” She looked at her captivated audience for acknowledgement. 

“I think we can assume he was a cocky bastard whose luck ran out.” Moore seethed. 

“It didn’t hurt at first, the knife. It just felt like someone was sitting on my chest, like it was hard to breathe. It wasn’t until he took the knife out that I felt the real pain. Like a bolt of lightning hitting my body, only it didn’t stop; it just kept pulsing through. I tried to scream, but nothing came out.” 

Andy felt Miranda shift uncomfortably on the spot next her. Anger and sorrow were coming off her body in waves. Andy wanted to take her hurt away, but she also knew that she needed to get through the story because she couldn’t say these words again. She squeezed Miranda’s hand to reassure her that she was okay before continuing. “I didn’t think I was going to make it, and then I heard the gunshots. Three clear shots and more blood. Then, I think I passed out. The next thing I can remember is seeing Captain Moore’s face as he lifted the deadweight off of me.” 

A sombre mood blanketed the air as they wrapped up the interview. The visitors thanked both Andy and Miranda for their time and wished Andy a speedy recovery. 

~

As the visitors left the room, Miranda placed a soft kiss against Andrea’s temple and then released her tightly squeezed hand from its grip—not sure of who had been holding on to the other the tightest. “I’ll be right back, darling,” she whispered. 

Closing the door behind her, Miranda heaved a sigh and hung her head in an effort to compose herself. Sharpe touched her arm lightly, drawing her attention. 

“You okay?” she asked softly as Moore lingered behind them in the corridor. 

“I don’t think it’s me we should be concerned about, do you?” Miranda snipped as her nostrils flared. 

“You know as well as I do that this was necessary,” Sharpe commented 

“I know, I know. I just didn’t expect it to be that hard.” Miranda blew out a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair. ”Did you at least get anything useful?” 

Sharpe nodded her head quickly. “We sure did. Andrea corroborated the bodyguard’s story, and I am confident that we have a watertight testimony that will place Correli at both attacks now.” 

 Miranda nodded, still bristling from the horrific information she had just heard. 

“Before I go,” Sharpe added. “I took the liberty of contacting a psychologist friend who I think would be good for Andrea. It’s not just the body that needs to heal. Remember that.” 

“Thank you, Beatrice.” Miranda smiled and accepted a business card with the details from the D.A. 

“Oh, and I don’t think it would hurt for you to book yourself a few sessions at the same time,” she added lightly. Miranda scoffed at the suggestion, but as she leaned in for an air kiss farewell, Sharpe merely smiled. 

As soon as the detectives left, Miranda pressed the speed dial on her cell phone, studying the name and title on the business card she held, and within seconds Emily answered. 

“Retain the services of a Dr. Catherine Campbell for Andrea, starting as soon as possible. Oh, and email me a list of reputable child psychologists in New York, preferably with experience in trauma.” 

“Already done, Miranda. It’s in your inbox now.” 

Miranda smiled. At least someone was still on top of her game. “Thank you, Emily,” she answered before ending the call and gathering her nerve to re-enter the room.

Andrea seemingly occupied herself with a magazine, but Miranda could see that she was no more reading the glossy pages than she was dancing a jig. She cleared her throat, and Andrea looked up as if she had been in a world of her own. 

“Hey,” Andy smiled. The smile, however, did not reach her eyes, and exhaustion laced her tone. The interview had obviously taken a lot out of her physically and emotionally. 

”Hi,” Miranda answered with a little more enthusiasm. “Do you want to talk, or shall we get some sleep?” 

“We?” Andy quizzed. “Unless I am mistaken, you have a perfectly good suite reserved at the Ritz.” 

“Are you insane? Are you sure they didn’t operate on your brain instead of your chest? I am most certainly not leaving you today.” 

“Oh no, no, no, Miranda!” Andy shook her head and adopted her stern face. “You know that I love you. But, look at the state of you. You are exhausted! I bet that before last night, you hadn’t left the hospital for a week, had you?” 

“Well…” Miranda paused, frustrated with the line of questioning and unsure of where the conversation was going. “Just what did you expect me to do?” Miranda snipped. Was Andrea angry with her for wanting to be there for her? Did she not understand how she felt about her? She had been to hell and back that week. 

Andy shook her head and smiled. “Miranda, I didn’t expect you to be anywhere else.” 

Miranda sniffed sulkily. 

“I would have done exactly the same,” Andy explained. “But, now it’s time for you to admit that you need to go and get some rest. You need to give yourself a chance to heal.” Andrea reached out and gently touched Miranda’s face, tracing the cuts and bruises with her fingertips.  “It’s okay. I’m fine, and I’m not going anywhere.” 

“But…” Miranda protested. 

“Don’t make me pull rank, Priestly!” Andrea said sternly with an element of play in her voice. “Now, I let you stay here with me last night.” 

Miranda crossed her arms and smirked. “Pulling rank?” she mouthed, and Andy nodded. “LET me…?”

After sending Andy’s parents off to check into their hotel, Miranda and Andy had filled the previous evening with small talk. Miranda had brought Andy up to speed with everything that had happened, including Emily staying with the girls and the chaos at the office. They had avoided, however, going into any detail about the case, the attack, or even their silly fight the night before it all happened. The only thing Andy had asked Miranda to explain was where her bruises had come from. Andy had seen Miranda before she was taken up to surgery, Miranda’s clothes torn and her body covered with cuts and bruises. She hadn’t had time to explain anything, then.  Miranda told her about the crash, playing down its severity and brushing aside the fact that she had been terrified. She couldn’t even bring herself to tell Andrea about how Roy was still in traction in a hospital bed several floors above their room.   

Andy continued with her tirade, unperturbed. “Yes, I let you stay in my room last night. Because, let’s face it; I’m a good Christian. I do a lot for charity, you know. I just think it’s time that you found your own place.” Miranda could see Andrea fighting hard not to smirk. “If it’s about money, I’m sure I could spare you a few dollars for room somewhere.” 

Miranda stood from her chair, picking up her coat and purse. “I think I preferred it when you were unconscious.” She turned defiantly and moved toward the door.  

“Miranda!” Andy called out urgently, grabbing her attention. 

A smile spread across her face, and Miranda knew before she turned around that she could not win this one. Nevertheless, with the kiss that she received from Andrea, she knew that she would quite happily lose every battle if that was her consolation prize. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**(February)**

Much had remained the same as Andy’s last hospital stay.  Doctor’s rounds occurred every morning, at which time the on shift resident and a group of hapless attendings would prod and poke her wounds and make observations on her progress. The same nurses checked in every couple of hours and scribbled notes on the board that was located at the end of her bed. The worst part, though, was having the same rules applied as before, so that the different tubes and monitors were removed and she was forced to get out of bed.

The physiotherapy sessions had started very quickly after Andy had regained consciousness. She made the assumption that this had something to do with the top-notch care Miranda insisted on paying for.  Nevertheless, one partially healed gunshot wound, internal injuries, and her newly acquired deep flesh lacerations to the torso were not to be scoffed at. Every move Andy made needed extra thought, extra patience, and an enormous amount of effort. The drugs were supposed to make her feel normal again, but they largely just made everything feel heavy and slow, her mind as well as her body.

Dr. Catherine Campbell arrived on a Tuesday, the day after Andy had been moved out of the intensive care unit. Andy had not been pre-warned about the psychiatrist's visit, which she suspected was again Miranda’s doing. She was not impressed. She knew that had she been pre-warned, she would have declined any suggestion of psychological support—something Miranda probably had anticipated.

Andy was pissed about the situation. She felt that she didn’t need anyone poking around in her head. She just wanted to forget it all, every last bit. But when she got down to it,  she was far too polite to turn the woman away, not when she knew deep down that  Doctor  Campbell was there to help her.

On first impression, Doctor Campbell had an unassuming nature. Andy placed the woman in her mid-forties, and whilst she dressed smartly and professionally, Andy was ashamed when she thought about what the bitchy girls at Runway would have said about the Doctor’s dress size. She had naturally blonde-graying bobbed hair and bangs framing her face, sitting just above her perfectly shaped eyebrows.  Her green eyes shone warmly, and much to Andy’s frustration, they seemed to possess supermind-exploring powers.

“It’s nice to meet you, Andrea. My name is Doctor Campbell. Do you mind if I take this seat?” she asked, pointing to the chair at the end of the bed.

Andy shook her head to confirm that it was fine but otherwise didn’t respond to the greeting.

Doctor Campbell slipped off her jacket and took out a notepad and pen before sitting down on the chair and crossing her legs at the knee. “I was asked to come and spend some time with you, to talk about anything you want. I’m just here to listen.”

Andy sighed. “I don’t know what Miranda told you, Doctor, but I am absolutely fine. I assure you there isn’t anything I can’t handle. God…” she cursed. “Why does everyone think I need or even want to talk about it?”

“Sometimes it helps to say things out loud," Doctor. Campbell suggested.

“I’ve said it aloud so many freaking times. I told the cops all about the first attack and the second one. What difference does it make? What’s the point? There is nothing you can do to change it.”   

~

Her parents took the afternoon shift, which was how Andy had started referring to the visits. Her father read the paper quietly in the corner of the room, whilst her mother talked at her. The incessant chat had been going on for what felt like a century, regaling every minute detail about the hotel, the pool, the sauna, the beds, the sheets, the food, the mini-bar, nothing was spared. Just as Andy considered knocking herself unconscious with her morphine drip, her mother seemed to run out steam.

Sadly the companionable silence didn’t last long. As Andy suspected, the hotel feedback had just been the warm up act, or perhaps the appetizer before the entrée.

“Have you thought about what you are going to do after you leave the hospital?” her mother asked with a tone all too sweet and light.

Andy tried not to roll her eyes and told herself that wherever the question was leading, her mother meant well. “There will be the trial to think about, but aside from that, I think I’m going to have to focus on getting my life back. I’m kinda jobless," she quipped, catching her father’s eye as he smiled at her.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” her mother asked. “I mean you could always come home with us..."

_‘Here we go,’_ Andy thought. “No, this is my home now, Mom. Here with Miranda.” 

“Sweetheart, I can see that Miranda loves you. That was clear from the moment we met her.” Andy’s mother paused as if she was searching for the right words. “I’ve seen pictures of her, and I know from all your stories and the phone calls just how tough she can be. To me she always has seemed so untouchable, or at least that’s how the papers painted her. But when she talks about you, she lights up; she seems like a completely different person to what the world sees. It’s like she's fragile and strong at the same time."

Andy felt her spirit lift a fraction; maybe this conversation wasn’t going to be as hard as she thought. “Oh, she is Mom.” Andy gushed. “You just need to get to know her.”

Her mother shifted in her seat and took Andy’s hand gently. “Listen, baby. She is almost twice your age, she has two children, and she has more money than anyone could possibly know what to do with. How can you think that this could ever work? How could you think that I would ever be okay with all of this?”

Andy laid her head back on her pillow and closed her eyes. She didn’t have the strength to fight. She was tired. She had fought enough. Now she just wanted it all to stop.

Keeping her eyes closed, she prayed that if she kept them closed for long enough, maybe they would just leave. With that last comforting thought, she fell asleep.

~

The elevator doors pinged open on the twentieth floor of The North General Hospital, and Miranda sauntered casually down the hallway while scanning for room twenty-seven. The staccato click and tap of her heels echoed down the corridor and caused several heads to turn as she passed the open rooms.

“Roy. How are you?” Miranda greeted jovially from the doorway of his private suite. She entered the room and immediately spotted Spencer; her original body guard sat in the visitor’s chair opposite the patient’s bed.

It was the first time she had seen both men since the crash, which had happened a couple of weeks previously, and the mere sight of their injuries made her heart race all over again.  

“Spencer, you look much better than the last time I saw you.” Miranda moved around the bed to where Spencer sat to kiss his battered and bruised cheek and stroke his face lightly before leaning in to do the same to Roy.

“As do you Miranda.” Spencer smiled despite the tight stitches that spread across his cheek. “It’s so good to see you.  I tried to get in to see Andrea, but her ward is closed for visiting. How is she?”

“She is doing well; I’ll ask Emily to add you to the visitors list. How about you, Roy?” she enquired, moving into the open space of the large room.  

“Short version is I’ve dislocated my hip, broken my leg in two places, and broken my clavicle. Hence this lovely contraption,” he pointed at the cage around his middle that was covered over by a bed sheet and blanket, “and the many, many sponge baths that I have been subjected to.”

“Oh my… I…” Miranda had not known the full extent of his injuries.

“Miranda, please don’t worry," he said quickly and reassuringly. “I’ll be fine.  Besides, I know it was you who arranged this private suite and all the extra attention I’ve been getting.”

Miranda smiled softly and made a mental note to thank Emily again for being so thorough.

“I owe you my life," Miranda said nervously, not quite used to displaying such sincerity with her employees. 

“No.” Roy exhaled. “We were just doing our jobs, right?” He looked to Spencer, who nodded.

 “No, this was way beyond any call of duty," Miranda insisted. “That maniac wanted to kill me, and without your quick thinking and actions he would have succeeded.”

“Not on my watch," Spencer declared with a hint of bravado. “You know that the firm has got this place and the winter cabin locked down like Fort Knox, right?”

“How is young Jake?” Miranda asked, as the man who had saved Andrea’s life came to mind. She had only met the man once. He had been shot in the line duty, but despite his life-threatening injuries, he had still managed to protect Andrea that day in the townhouse. Something she would be eternally grateful for. She made a mental note to have Emily arrange "something" to demonstrate her thanks.

“He is doing great. He was released yesterday," Spencer enthused. “I’m sure he’ll be back on duty in no time.”

“What about you? When will you be back?” she asked her erstwhile bodyguard.

“Why? Are my boys not treating you right, Miranda?” he teased. 

“You should know by now, Spencer, that I never settle for second best," Miranda drawled, and she was glad to see how her words caused him to smile widely.

As she left Roy’s hospital suite, Miranda felt her cellphone buzz with an incoming call from Emily.

“Miranda, there’s been an incident on Andrea’s ward," Emily blurted out.

Without answering her assistant, Miranda immediately turned around and reopened the door to Roy’s private room. The two men looked up as the door creaked open, and she locked eyes with Spencer.   _I need you_ , she mouthed to him before responding to Emily.

"Explain," she demanded harshly.

“A member of the press managed to get into Andy’s room. He somehow got past the security team and took some pictures of her sleeping. The ward called me straightaway. They said she is okay but scared.”

 Miranda hung up the phone without responding, too focused on getting back to Andrea’s room with Spencer and her two personal guards in tow.

Pushing through the crowd of hospital staff that had gathered in the corridor of Andrea’s floor, Miranda rushed into the room. A nurse whose name had escaped Miranda was holding Andrea’s hand and talking quietly with her in what looked like attempt to calm her down.

“I’m fine, Miranda," Andy said immediately once she saw her at the door.

Miranda released a deep breath that she was unaware she’d been holding and turned to walk back out of the room. “Spencer, would you mind staying here with Andrea for a moment, please?”

He nodded and moved aside to let her pass with the nurse following behind.

~

 

Spencer approached Andy’s bed, and she caught a glimpse of the stiches in his face and the sling on his arm. "Ouch," groaned sympathetically.

“I could say the same thing to you," he empathized.  

The door to the room wasn’t quite closed, and the silence between them grew more uncomfortable as Miranda’s voice outside the room became louder and more deadly.

“Oh no, that’s the first sign of the apocalypse.” Andy groaned.

“Huh?” Spencer said in a puzzled voice.

“Miranda has raised her voice. This must mean that the world is going to end any second.”

Spencer laughed involuntarily and winced as the stitches in his face pulled tight.

“What happened in the car on that morning?” she asked him, taking full advantage of their time alone.

“She didn’t tell you?”

“What do you think? From the look of you and her inability to look me in the eye whenever I have asked her what happened, I know she isn’t telling me everything.”

“Then maybe it’s not for me to say," he answered.  

"Please, Spencer," she implored.

He took a seat next to the bed and stared at a spot on the floor as he began to explain what had happened to them on that morning. He described how the black car had appeared from nowhere. How he had made the decision to flee, to try to evade it.

“I should have known better.” He sighed regretfully. “Roy is a good driver, but we really didn’t stand a chance in that midtown traffic. Before we even hit the intersection, I knew it was going to end badly.”

He continued to describe the chase and the moment of impact when the car had flipped onto its roof. How the paramedics and the fire department had to resort to pulling Miranda from the car and cut Roy free.

Miranda had told Andy that Roy had been hospitalized, but Andy had not known that his injuries had been life-threatening.

“What about Miranda?” Andy asked.

“The EMT had thought she had broken a couple of ribs," he explained. “But I don’t know for sure. She was really beaten up though.”

Andy felt a sense of disappointment with Miranda wash over her, but she was not really surprised that Miranda didn’t tell her everything.

“What about Jake?” she asked, hoping that his story was brighter.

Spencer took her hand and patted it reassuringly. “He’s gonna be fine. They let him check out yesterday.”

“Oh, that’s great but also a shame. I would have really liked to have seen him.”

“He did try to see you, but you’re on lockdown, or so we thought…” he gestured to the door, "…until that Fruitloop got in today. Even I was denied access this week without the Priestly seal of approval.” He grinned. “If we thought security was tight before, just imagine what it will be like now. Heads are going to roll for this.”

Andy nodded solemnly.  “Oh, of that you can be sure.”

~

Doctor Campbell arrived at nine a.m. on the dot; it was her third visit in as many days. Andy still didn’t agree that she needed therapy, but she was beginning to warm up to the fact that the doctor was someone she could talk to; she could vent the thoughts trapped in her head to this person.

“Miranda didn’t tell me the truth about what happened in the crash," Andy began. The doctor didn’t respond to her statement. She simply took a sip from her Starbucks cup. “Well, technically that’s not true…” Andy continued. “She didn’t actually lie She just failed to give me all the facts. I'm not some fragile vase, though. I don't need to be shielded or wrapped up in cotton wool."  
  
"Do you think she is shielding you?" the doctor asked.  
  
"Yes, well no. I don't know." Andy sighed. "I think she just desperately wants everything to be okay, but how can it be?"  
  
"You don't think it can?" Doctor Campbell countered.  
  
"Yes, but... Oh, I don't know.” Andy sighed again, feeling frustrated that she couldn’t reduce her emotions to words. “Everything was just so new and fresh with us. How do we even begin to get through this together?"

"By talking to her," the doctor answered.  
  
Andy snorted indignantly. "Easier said than done."  
  
"Why do say that?"  
  
"What if she doesn't like what I have to say?" Andy whispered. She stared through the open window blinds, noticing for the first time that rain lashed the panes. It was silent in its attack, an unrelenting stream beating on the glass and running in rivulets down the side of the building. The rhythm was almost hypnotic, so calming that she almost jumped when the doctor broke the silence with another question.  
  
"What do you see when you close your eyes?" she asked.  
  
"Blood," Andy responded immediately before tearing her gaze from the window. “It has taken over everything. I can taste it, smell it. I can feel it between my fingers. I just want to be able to close my eyes and still see the beauty in the world. The sight and smell of freshly cut flowers, the hustle and bustle of the newsroom, and light catching Miranda's beautiful face. There was time when she was all I could see when I closed my eyes. Now I don't see anything but death.”  
  
"That's why I’m here, Andy. To help you feel better inside. We need to work through some of this hurt and pain because hanging on to the past will only stand in your way."

                                                                               

~

It was nearly three weeks before the investigating team completed processing the crime scene and finally released the townhouse. Although the police contractors had already cleaned it, Emily mentioned her desire to hire a private firm to put it back to normal before the family returned home. However, Miranda had insisted on assessing the damage for herself first.

Miranda looked up at the outside of her house from behind the car window and drew in a sharp breath.  A uniformed man, whom she assumed the D.A had hired to monitor the valuable property in its vulnerable state, stood outside the entrance to the house. A long piece of garish yellow police tape was still haphazardly tied in place around the rails and window frames, a plastic sheet covered the basement window, and a piece of plywood was attached by ugly hinges to the frame where her front door used to be.

“Gentlemen, please wait in the car,” Miranda instructed her two bodyguards. Her tone left no room for debate.

As she approached the house, the uniformed man greeted her and opened the makeshift door to allow her access to her treasured home.

Inside the house she noticed first the smell, the blending of an acrid burning of industrial strength bleach and fresh paint.  Her stomach flipped as she considered what was painted over and where. The usually shiny oak hardwood floor in the hallway was dirty with many dusty footprints and scuffed beyond repair.

As she continued to the kitchen she couldn’t help but picture Juliana’s attack, the description of her beloved housekeeper's death as told by Andrea replaying in her mind as she scanned the room. She assumed that some of the dents and chips in the marble countertop and some missing cupboard doors either had been submitted as evidence or were the result of damages beyond repair.

Moving on to the front living room, she found her usually decadent space almost bare of furniture. The couch, several pieces of soft furnishings, and parts of the carpet had been removed by the forensic team. Miranda knew deep down that the only reason why they would have cut out the carpet was because it had been completely ruined…by blood.  

Miranda pressed the speed dial on her phone, and after two rings, Emily answered. No pleasantries were exchanged before Miranda gave her instructions.  “I want the kitchen ripped out; replace everything in that room, and I mean everything.  Same in the living room; gut it all. I want the house cleaned from top to bottom, attic to basement. Every item of clothing, bedding, and towels are to be cleaned, every surface, every cupboard, and every drawer. I do not know what he touched, and I don’t want to have to think about it. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Miranda.”

Miranda released the call and moved to the hall to ascend the stairs. She needed to pack some essential items to take to the hotel. She would have whatever she picked up disinfected by the hotel service.

Walking across the landing, Miranda found herself pausing at the door of the study, the room where she and Andrea had spent every evening of their short time together in the house, working, talking, laughing, kissing. She looked at the rug in front of the fire where they had made love. Leaving the doorway, she walked into her bedroom, wiping away an errant tear from the corner of her eye brought on by the sweet memories.

Her bed was unmade—bedclothes strewn across the floor where she had left them when leaving for work that fateful morning. Her room had always been immaculate and fresh by the time she had returned home from work each evening, but Juliana hadn't gotten the chance to work her magic that day, and she never would again. A great weight of sadness pushed down on Miranda’s chest, and as the impact of her loss hit her, so did the tears. Things would never be the same again.

After giving herself a few minutes to regain her composure, she pressed the speed dial on her phone again, and within seconds Emily picked up. “Make me a personal appointment with Doctor Campbell," Miranda said and hung up without another word.

~

It took the cleaners and decorators one week to complete their work. Miranda had been consulted on the designs and  new furnishings, but it was Emily who oversaw the lion's share of the work remotely from the winter cabin.

Miranda wanted to move back in the day after completion despite Andrea's protests about her being alone in the house.

“What about my parents?” Andrea suggested.

“What about them?” Miranda responded haughtily.

Andrea's parents were staying at the Ritz, courtesy of Miranda. Miranda understood exactly what she was suggesting, but as far as she was concerned, the idea was absolutely out of the question.

“They could keep you company. I really don’t want you there by yourself," Andrea pleaded softly.

“Darling, I am more than happy to play nice and get to know your parents whilst they are here, but seriously, don’t you think I am a little too old to be playing suck up to the in-laws. It’s probably more essential that we don’t live under same roof to ensure that I can continue playing nice, don’t you agree? Besides, I won’t be alone. I have a fulltime security team. There will be two men with me at all times, and the girls are coming home tonight.”

“That’s wonderful. I bet they are happy about that," Andrea said.

"Yes," Miranda confirmed. “But they are insisting that Emily stays with us, at least until they settle back in.”

“They really do have her wrapped around their little fingers, don’t they?” Andy commented with a hint of snark lacing her tone.

“Don't be absurd. The girls have come to trust her. I feel that a sense of stability and consistency is good for them. They need her, and so do I.”

“You do know that she is your employee and not your slave, right?” Andy said in a sulky voice. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Emily is paid well, she knows I am grateful, and I categorically do not treat her like a slave.”

“Miranda, can’t you see that she idolizes you? She would do anything for you. Are you sure that having her move in with you is not an abuse of power?”

Miranda’s nostrils flared as Andrea’s words hit a raw nerve.

“Miranda, are you sure she doesn’t want more from you?”

Miranda released an unexpected snort, angry and amused by Andrea's suggestion “Don’t be ridiculous!" Miranda said, her tone sharp. She paced at the bedside. “Besides, even if she did have feelings for me, it would be completely one-sided. I would never ever look at her that way. Is that what this is?” she gestured wildly with her hand, waving it in Andrea’s direction. “Are you jealous?”

Andrea looked insulted. “Me, jealous?” she said as if the very notion was ridiculous.  

“I simply cannot talk to you when you are acting like a child,” Miranda fumed.

“That’s it, Miranda; you pulled out the age card!” Andy threw back.  

“You are infuriating.” Miranda picked up her coat and bag and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind herself. She had no time to entertain such immaturity. Did Andrea mistrust her so much that she believed her feelings were transient? _Of all the ridiculous notions that silly girl has imagined!_

~

Miranda wanted to have dinner with her daughters and Emily their first night back in the townhouse.

The girls had unpacked and settled back into their rooms as soon as they had arrived home. Emily had taken the guestroom on their floor after she had been escorted back to her apartment to collect a few personal items.

The girls had been quiet and standoffish with their mother since they’d arrived home, and Miranda was very aware of the tension that existed between them.

Dinner was ordered in from Fellini’s, heavenly Italian goodness for all of them, as the occasion called for comfort food, even for Emily. Miranda tried to make small talk, asking how the homework that had been sent from the school was progressing and whether they were excited to be seeing their friends again, to which they had responded politely but without any of their usual flare.

Miranda couldn’t break the vibe of hostility that they were exuding; nor could she put her finger on what was causing it. That was until she brought up the subject of Andrea in conversation, and she saw the dual scowls mar their faces.

“I want to set the record straight, girls, so please pay attention. Things are going be changing around here. I’m going to ask Andrea to move in with us permanently.”

Cassidy tutted petulantly, and Caroline rolled her eyes à la Priestly style. “Things have already changed, Mom,” Cassidy sassed. “Don’t we get a say anymore? This is our house, too. Why do you insist on trying to ruin our lives?”

Miranda could see the contempt rolling off the twins in waves as Cassidy finished her outburst. “I’ve made my decision," Miranda stated. “Quite frankly, if you can’t act maturely about this situation, then you don’t deserve to be treated like adults.”

 Both the girls rose from their seats at the same time and stormed out of the room.

                                                                               

~

 

Andy managed to make it three excruciating hours before she called Miranda. She was sure she could hear the smile in Miranda’s voice when she answered the call, but in the next breath Miranda's voice cooled, almost as if she had remembered that she was supposed to be angry.

“I’m sorry,” Andy said quietly and waited for Miranda’s response. After a few seconds of silence, Andy spoke again. “I am so sorry. I should never have said the things I did. I… God, I am such an idiot, Miranda. Please tell me that everything is going to be okay?” She heard Miranda sniff on her end of the phone, but she couldn’t tell if she was crying or expressing contempt.

Miranda cleared her throat, and she sounded like she was struggling to not lose her composure. “Everything is okay," she reassured Andy.

“I think my meds are making me crazy," Andy explained. “They are messing with my head. What can I do to make this right?”

“Emily is my assistant, and a damn good one, too. I trust her implicitly and so should you. She only acts snippy and rude because she doesn’t want me to get hurt, but she is really a very sweet and caring girl. I push her to her limits because I know she can do it. I would never ask her to anything I wouldn’t have done myself at that stage in my career. When her time comes, she will be a force to be reckoned with, and I will be proud to say that I played a role in that.”

“Miranda…” Andy started to interrupt.

“I love you, Andrea, and a silly little quarrel is not going to change that. Now, it’s time for you to get some rest. I’ll be by to see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

 “Goodnight, Miranda. I love you, too.”

~

From the silence of her study, Miranda could hear Emily ascending the stairs and approaching the room.

“Emily,” Miranda called out softly. “Would you care to join me for a nightcap?” she asked as the young woman popped her head around the door.

Miranda poured two fingers of scotch in each glass and gestured for Emily to take a seat on the leather couch that faced the dying fire.

‘You were quiet during dinner,” Miranda stated before taking a sip of the Glinlivet.

“I was just observing,” Emily answered.

“Oh, really? What did you see?” Miranda intoned.

“I saw three people who are having trouble talking to each other at the moment.”

“And how do you to talk to them?” Miranda bristled.

“It's more the fact that they have learned to trust me,” Emily explained.

 “It seems like I am the last person they want to trust at this moment in time. Have they spoken to you about their therapy sessions?” Emily nodded in response. “Should I be worried?”

“No, I don’t think so. They have a nasty case of the green-eyed monster.” Miranda’s face crumpled in confusion as Emily continued to explain. “They think she is competition. Plus, I don’t mean to speak out of turn, but is this the first time you have not let them have the final say? They didn’t get to approve or disapprove her this time.”

“My love life is not a democracy,” Miranda stated icily.

“I know that, but they don’t. You are theirs, and for twins they are surprisingly not good at sharing.”

Miranda smiled. “Who knew that under all that shaking and dithering there was a mature, intelligent girl, capable of actual conversation.”

“I learned from the best,” Emily smiled demurely.  

Miranda smiled devilishly as she leaned forward to clink glasses with Emily.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on publishing this chapter folks. It won't be so long next time!
> 
> Huge thanks, as always to the amazing Jazwriter for cleaning up my mess.


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